


tick of time

by xShieru



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Graduation, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Sexual Content, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-12
Updated: 2014-10-12
Packaged: 2018-02-20 22:41:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2445833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xShieru/pseuds/xShieru
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On the day of the third-years graduation, the life Akaashi Keiji had known for the last two years shattered, beyond repair.</p><p>(But life goes on.)</p><p>--</p><p>Sometimes he thinks about birds leaving their nests only to return a year later and then his thoughts travel back to the promises they made on the day of Koutarou's graduation. The hushed words of affection they had exchanged as their time ran out. </p><p>Those memories alone give him hope that one day Bokuto Koutarou will return to him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	tick of time

**Author's Note:**

> Welp since I got my tender kokoro broken by Heartbreak (it doesn't hurt) I come back with a vent fic.
> 
> Idk how many of you have ever been in a long-distance relationship before/had relatives or friends leave you, but lemme tell: it's one of the worst feelings imaginable. Especially if they don't know when they'll come back: maybe a month later. Maybe two. You simply wait. Trust me, I know what I'm saying. I've been in this situation and I still am.
> 
> Enjoy the angst fest! Song used: tick of time by the kooks (a cover, actually. It's a bit sadder.)  
> Trivia: in Japan on the day of graduation, guys give the second button of their blazers (aka the one closest to their heart) to the person they hold very dear to them. A confession, basically.

One day the world as he knows falls apart, piece by piece, irreparably.

He knew that it would happen eventually and waited for this day with a fair amount of dread pooling in his stomach. Minutes ticked by and he held onto every one of it like a precious thing that should never be released or tossed aside. Because they were truly precious, up to every second. 

Every moment, every laugh, every smile, every toss he set, carefully, willing for it to go through, the team’s wins and losses resting on his shoulders – maybe Akaashi was just a tad ‘too responsible’ now that he thinks about it because he knows that he shouldn’t blame himself, shouldn’t think about things like: _what if I had been faster, what if I had turned more to the side?_ – every ‘nice toss!’ shouted from different corners of the court by his energetic teammates, every satisfying smack of the ball on the opposite side of the net, every match point – they all meant the world to him. These precious things – moments - all came together, wrapped around each other tightly to make materials which built Akaashi’s world.

A rope he so desperately clung onto, feeling it get a little looser whenever they lost, whenever smiles turned to frowns and the booming voice Akaashi has come to adore faded into nothing but broken sobs. 

They weren’t victorious, but they were _pretty damn close_ and Akaashi would be damned if he showed any kind of weakness in front of his teammates, in front of the captain no less. They deserved all the praise in the world and no amount of ‘good job’s and ‘thank you for everything’s Akaashi politely forced out could ever fill that gap.

.

.

.  
Bokuto mysteriously disappears after the match. Komi says that he’s seen him talking with some old guy in a plaid suit and an air of authority around.

He comes back fifteen minutes later, feeling just a little better but when his eyes meet Akaashi’s the good mood is gone completely.

(Their eyes don’t meet for the rest of the day.)

.

.

.

Graduation day inches closer and Akaashi wishes he could stop all the clocks in his presence so he wouldn’t be reminded of imminent separation from his teammates everywhere he goes.

When he glances up from his trig book and looks at the ancient clock hanging above the blackboard, it just keeps on periodically counting down the minutes like it’s supposed to, every _tick-tock_ making Akaashi feel nauseous.

.

.

.

They stop club activities because the third-years need to get ready for exams and there’s simply no use playing with a few people around. 

Akaashi refuses to go to the gym, using his ‘free time’ to study.

He tries not to think about the fact that he won’t play with this team again. They’re all leaving him behind.

He wishes that he had joined the volleyball club earlier. He wishes he had been born on the same year as his teammates.

.

.

.

He passes Bokuto by in the hallways a few times. The older boy doesn’t meet his gaze, doesn’t even chirp a single word of acknowledgment as he goes on ahead, eyebrows furrowed, a bunch of documents clutched in his hands.

(That day Akaashi hears the sound of skin connecting with the ball’s surface, followed by a muffled _thunk_ and the rubber soles of shoes squeaking. He looks through the gap in the door and clutches his bag tighter. He decides against going inside.)

. 

.

.

Bokuto Koutarou is avoiding him like fire and for the first time in the few years he’s known the older boy, Akaashi Keiji does not know what he should do - _what the best thing to do would be_. So he lets him.

Maybe it’s better this way. Maybe it will be easier to say goodbye.

(He knows that it’s a lie.)

.

.

.

Akaashi still remembers how brightly the sun had shined through the gym’s windows when the coach had announced that he was to become the official setter of Fukurodani team. He remembers the jealous glances from other first-years and seconds-years, the way his future teammates had congratulated him, their voices full of support, carrying a hint of ‘we’ll be counting on you to do a good job’. 

Komi and Konoha had picked up and thrown him into the air a few times - Akaashi still remembers how distressed their faces had turned when they realized, _belatedly_ , that they wouldn’t be able to catch him properly. Remembers how he closed his eyes, expecting to painfully face-plant against the gymnasium’s floor, cursing the two troublemakers and most importantly himself for not stopping this foolishness in time, remembers a surprised - and very embarrassing - shriek that had escaped his mouth.

There was no pain, no floor pressed against his cheeks and other body parts. He had landed on someone, or rather, in someone’s arms, and he didn’t dare open his eyes in order to save himself from the embarrassment that would follow. When snickering and wolf-whistles reached his ears Akaashi had realized that, once again, he had chosen to do the wrong thing.

(The sun that day had _nothing_ on Bokuto’s happy, genuine grins.)

Akaashi had felt his face flush a deep shade of red once he saw that he was being held up by Fukurodani’s captain, laughing loudly like he’d just heard or seen the world’s greatest prank - and he probably had, judging by the guilty faces of the troublemaker duo. Bokuto held him like he weighed nothing, successfully delivering blows to Akaashi’s pride - they really weren’t that far apart in height, _only a couple of centimeters_ , and it’s not his fault that Bokuto had twice the muscle mass - and sanity. 

His brain had shut down completely and he forgot that he was supposed to demand to be set down on the firm ground and maybe elbow the loudmouthed boy’s ribs in the process instead of giving him thanks. Akaashi was kind of, sort of, very _very mesmerized_ by the view. It was just _something_ about the warm look that Bokuto had rewarded him with; it sealed his mouth and took away his voice.

(He has no solid proof to confirm it but Akaashi’s certain that his eyes weren’t playing tricks on him; at that very moment Bokuto’s cheeks had turned just a little redder and he most likely felt the tension that had sparked between them and hadn’t left ever since.) 

If eyes truly are windows to one’s soul then Akaashi might as well call Bokuto’s eyes _a balcony_ that he had gracelessly climbed and stumbled into, only to find the glass door open for him, inviting him inside, waiting for him to make some sort of move. 

Akaashi wasn’t just another casual intruder. 

And that had confused him the most.

(Bewilderment and curiosity had flickered in those amber eyes for a second as the older boy’s smile suddenly fell and Akaashi was almost dropped on the floor. Gladly, he had managed to land properly, albeit gracelessly, yet he didn’t find it in himself to scold Bokuto. He was just as red-faced as the taller boy’s neck and ears.)

.

.

.

Akaashi could thank Bokuto over and over again for bringing some colour into his black and white existence, but he feels that words aren’t enough and he doesn’t know how he should express himself. 

‘Thank you for being there,’ he would say. ‘Thank you for being a pillar for this team. Thanks to you I no longer feel alone.’

Because before he had met him, before Akaashi had seen the sun, _the real sun_ , he had been wandering around aimlessly with no place in this society reserved for him. Always the quiet and rude bookworm. Always alone.

Always unneeded. 

People came and went, all of them equally boring, all of them predictable. Maybe Akaashi had been a little too arrogant back then but he didn’t want friends, didn’t feel the need to get any. All he wanted was to play volleyball. He wasn’t socially awkward or anything of the sort but this was a team sport and it didn’t say anywhere that Akaashi was required to get to know them better outside the court. 

He would look at Bokuto and wonder where the hell all of this boundless and annoying energy came from. What was so special about that foolish kid with insane spiking skills that attracted people to him? He seemed shallow. Uninteresting. Just another one of those loudmouths Akaashi would usually scare away with his expressionless face and dead eyes. 

He turned out to be so much more than Akaashi could simply deal with. Still can’t.

He’d look at that broad back emanating some sort of weird energy that had attracted him far too much, an aura of gold that had coloured Akaashi’s plain world even if just a little bit. Slowly the gold had taken over the black and little by little more colours had filtered in. 

(Akaashi’s blank canvas got splashed in the most vibrant colours the day he became Fukurodani’s setter and Bokuto’s arms had tightened over his bent knees just a little as if to reassure him that this was okay. That he was allowed to feel _happy_. He was allowed to see more than black and white and Bokuto would prove it to him over and over again, as many times as he would ask, show him new sights he’s never seen before every single day.

He had kept that promise.)

He cannot simply deal with the thoughts of separation when he wants to hold onto those warm hands and never let go. He still wants to play volleyball with the greatest people he’s ever met. It’s driving him insane.

.

.

.

There’s a week left until the final goodbyes are exchanged. Akaashi corners him in the gym.

“Please tell me why you won’t look me in the eye, Bokuto-san,” he demands but it comes out as a defeated murmur. “Is it because of our loss? Did I screw up that bad?”

Bokuto’s head shoots up as if to finally acknowledge him, but his gaze is glued to Akaashi’s trembling left shoulder. He hops up to his feet, slightly towering over him with that build – Bokuto has changed quite a lot, no longer a boy but a true man while Akaashi had stayed the same. 

He looks like he’s about to grab Akaashi’s shoulders and shake him. Instead, Bokuto bites his lip and curls his fingers into tight fists, uselessly clenching and unclenching by his thighs. “It has nothing to do with you! It’s not your fault that last spike didn’t go through so… don’t blame yourself.” His eyebrow twitches and he looks like he’s angry but not with Akaashi, rather with himself. A defeated grin lacking any kind of mirth stretches his lips, makes Akaashi’s heart ache. “I’ve had… a lot on my mind as of late,” he admits and crouches down, back pressed against the wall. Akaashi’s too reluctant to join him.

“A lot on your mind, Bokuto-san? That doesn’t seem very likely,” he says after a moment when he notices that the older boy doesn’t want to keep this conversation going. He must, though. It’s the only way.

Bokuto laughs, hollow. It’s disturbing. Had their loss truly affected him that much? “Indeed.” He nods in agreement. Well at least he understood that this was Akaashi’s way of trying to cheer him up. Bokuto has gotten very good at reading his emotionless voice. “This whole graduation business is draining me. Exams are pretty hard, you know?”

“You should’ve dedicated more time to studying.”

“I should have. It’s a bit too late for that now, isn’t it?”

Akaashi stays silent. Bokuto’s not the smartest kid out there but he knows that he can make it. He always does. He always learned everything whenever he put his heart and soul into it, how else do you think he remained the captain of their team, hadn’t been forced to stop club activities until he learned how to put his studies before volleyball. 

After a few moments of mutual hesitance, Akaashi settles down on the ground next to the now former captain of Fukurodani. He keeps some distance but he can still feel Bokuto’s warmth. It’s impossible not to. Being next to the guy is a lot like staring into the sun; foolish, yet at the same time—

“Have you picked a college already?” Akaashi hears his own voice break the silence and he almost wants to take it back, grab those syllables and shove them down his throat because he’s too afraid to hear the answer. 

This time he is the one who refuses to look the other’s way, arms wrapped around his knees. He wonders if he had sounded too broken for his own good. 

(Bokuto was a professional at peeling away the layers of indifference Akaashi had always painted on his face, indifference of black and white and murky gray.)

The clock ticks its rhythmic melody, grating against Akaashi’s already frazzled nerves. He wants it to stop, wants to scream at _an inanimate object_ to stop counting down the minutes to the moment his life loses colours once again. 

Bokuto laughs. It sounds full of sadness, an airy kind of laugh that he lets out whenever he fucks something up really badly and doesn’t know how else to react, only laughs at his own stupidity and bad life decisions. “I have.”

Oh.

‘Is it far away from home? Is it close? Is there a chance we will meet again after this? A year, two years, ten years later. Is there a chance we will run into each other at a convenience store and barely recognize each other? You will be happy with lovely kids and a loving wife and I—’

I’ll always remember you as the only person that I felt so strongly about.

(The only person I ever…

He doesn’t finish that thought.)

Bokuto says nothing else, so uncharacteristically silent that Akaashi almost misses the way the older boy used to be, as annoying and overbearing as it was. Anything’s better than this Bokuto - the childish sulking mode, the angry dejected mode, he’d take anything over this guy that he can’t even recognize. Bokuto stands up and stretches his arms slightly.

“Akaashi, are you busy tonight?” he asks. Akaashi merely looks at his broad back and nods wordlessly. He quickly remembers that the taller boy can’t see him.

“No, actually, I was about to go home. I have nothing else planned.” He fixes the strap of his bag and gets up himself. No use sitting around then, now that he’s being either dismissed or invited somewhere. He hopes for the latter

His wishes are granted. “Same here. I was hoping you’d join me.” It doesn’t sound like a plea, it’s a _demand_ and for once Bokuto’s using his ‘captain voice’. It sends shivers down Akaashi’s spine.

“There’s something very important I have to tell you, okay?”

Akaashi looks to the side, eyes downcast, wringing the strap of his bag nervously as if it’s a lifeline he can’t let go of lest he drowns in uneasiness and melancholy. 

“Me too,” he says without thinking and takes in a sharp breath. 

He’ll tell him tonight. He needs to get it off his chest before it’s far too late.

.

.

.

Bokuto’s probably going to ask him for favors such as ‘take care of the team’ or ‘don’t quit. You’re the best setter anyone can ever ask for’. 

Then why is his heart beating so fast that it’s almost falling out through his mouth as he falls a few steps behind Bokuto, thoughts whirling and blurring like a colourless typhoon.

Akaashi’s never been one to feel anxiety, but this is getting ridiculous and something deep down tells him that whatever Bokuto says to him will cause a major impact on his life and his outlook on many different things for the better or worse.

.

.

.

Bokuto’s family lives in the better part of the town. The apartment is high up, to the point Akaashi feels like he might faint if he looks out the window. He enjoys heights, just not when he needs to look down. The sounds from the 24/7 bustling streets below don’t even reach up here.

He looks around the familiar yet, at the same time not, place, noticing that Bokuto’s parents are gone and his younger brother is nowhere to be seen. 

It’s too strange to see the apartment so devoid of life and its usual sounds. Akaashi’s been to Bokuto’s place three times in his life and every time at least one family member is present and they never fail to pop their head from some room to greet him. Bokuto’s parents are easily excitable like their oldest child and his sibling is just as bright. Akaashi always feels drained after being cooped up in the same room with at least four suns, the cheerfulness simply too much for him to handle. However, his teammates seem to handle it pretty well.

Maybe Akaashi isn’t as social as he likes to think.

Bokuto throws his bag near the shoe rack and mumbles a silent ‘I’m home’. Akaashi lets him wander off and pads after him into Bokuto’s room once he takes off his shoes. 

What he sees makes the blood in his veins turn cold.

Now it’s only natural that Bokuto’s a bit of a slob, a lot of guys are, so he can’t say anything, but not overly so. Every time Akaashi’s been here, he always scolded the older one whenever he almost tripped over a random hoodie or a pair of jeans carelessly dropped on the ground. Back then the walls had been covered in whatever the hell; photos, posters, a few paintings that his mother had banished into his room ages ago and didn’t bother to re-hang them elsewhere. Akaashi hadn’t even known what kind of colour the walls were.

Now the spacious room is completely empty and devoid of personality. You can’t even tell that someone had spent more than a few hours here, no less lived here.

The view is strangely depressing. 

Bokuto’s room isn’t meant to look like an example of a perfect guest room in some cheap furniture catalogue. 

Akaashi gets his answers before he can even ask anything. Bokuto’s moving out. Most likely somewhere far away from Tokyo. That knowledge alone chills him to the bone, makes his heart freeze. 

It’s not as if he hadn’t expected this, hell, _he knew all along_ but he still clung onto that cobweb of hope.

With a dull thump Bokuto’s back hits the bed, messing up the perfect still life image. He looks completely out of place with his long toned limbs and his messy horned-owl hairstyle, silver strands contrasting against the black sheets, but at the same time he belongs here, always had. He sighs as he pillows his head with his forearms and orders Akaashi to sit down. Keiji obeys, choosing one corner and settling on the very edge.

“You’re gonna fall off, Akaashi!” Some of the former glory finds its way back into Bokuto’s vocal chords, laced with that whiny tone Akaashi knows far too well. This is the old Bokuto, _his Bokuto_. “C’mon, come closer.”

‘I don’t want to,’ Akaashi thinks and chews on his lower lip nervously. Nonetheless he does as he’s told and his feet no longer hold up most of his weight.

He would say that the silence is comfortable for once but his heart would like to disagree with that understatement.

“You know, I really really wanted to tell you this for a long time but… with this graduation business going on I thought how shitty it would be if I just said it out of the blue. I didn’t want to make you upset, so I hesitated,” Bokuto begins, still looking aside. The ceiling to be exact. 

(Bokuto Koutarou can be described in many words and ‘hesitant’ is not one of them. It’s a word that does not exist in his vocabulary along with many other negative adjectives. Bokuto’s headstrong, he’s always the first one no matter what - whether it’s scoring the first point of a match or being the first one in line in the cafeteria whenever they sell their trademark yakisoba pans, going as far as wrestling or tackling Washio for it. Bokuto is brave, sometimes stupidly so. A true lionheart.

He’s brash, loud and annoying but not easily hated because he’s warm like the sun, caring and his good sides outweight his bad ones by light-years.) 

“Wanted to tell ya after we won the Prelims, but…”

Akaashi wants to comfort him but he can only get past the older boy’s name when he’s swiftly cut off.

“First things first, though.” Bokuto slowly raises himself up and messes up his hair, stray strands falling over his eyes. No matter how many times Akaashi sees this he can never get used to it, it feels like every time is the first. “I’ll… keep playing volleyball.”

“Th…” At least this brings him some sort of relief. Akaashi can’t really see Bokuto and volleyball being apart – hell, when he hears the word ‘volleyball’ he no longer thinks about a game of six players in one team, his mind always conjures an image of Bokuto jumping high into the air, all power and grace and raw technique, ready to slam the ball down on the opposite side of the net, looking so much like a bird in flight - he’s far too good to toss it aside and become some boring office worker. That just isn’t him. If he had said otherwise Akaashi would’ve undeniably hit him and shaken him until he changed his mind. 

“That’s great, Bokuto-san.” He nods in appreciation. “A good choice.”

The older boy messes his hair up even further and moodily brushes the strands out of his eyes as though he regrets this already. “When… when we… ugh, after our final match this guy came up to me. Said that he’d heard a lot about me and has been keeping tabs on my progress since middle school—”

He knows where this is going and pride swells within Akaashi’s chest, overpowering the dread.

“Long story short: I got scouted.”

For the first time in weeks Bokuto looks up and meets his eyes, gaze unwavering as if trying to pick up what Akaashi’s feeling. And he’s feeling a lot. 

Happiness. Pride. Confusion. Sadness. All of them blend together in a blur of bright colours, all feelings overpowered by the sight of those fiery amber eyes – oh god, Akaashi has almost forgotten how they looked like whenever they focused on him alone – his cheeks flush just a little and damn, he thinks, he’s got it _bad_ for Bokuto Koutarou. He really loves him so, _so much_ but that comes as no surprise because maybe he’s been in love since the beginning of his new life, since the start of them.

“That’s amazing!” he says a bit louder than usual and Bokuto blinks, confused. “I was worried you might quit.”

“Quit? I’d never!”

“And that’s perfect. This is meant for you, Bokuto-san. You’re meant to be someone great, you already are, but please aim for the very top and carry on the team’s aspirations.” Bokuto’s jaw is slack as he gapes at the black-haired boy, cheeks slowly coloring. Akaashi’s eyes are practically sparkling and he can’t control himself. He’s done playing it cool, done being emotionless. They don’t have much time so he needs to let it be seen, what he _truly_ feels. “You will become the best in the world and stand at the grandest of stages and your dream will come true. I know it will.”

 

But instead of a dopey grin and a ‘shucks, Akaashi, you’re too much!’ uttered out while Bokuto tries to pretend that he doesn’t deserve this praise and rubs his burning neck, Keiji is rewarded with a deep sigh as the older one looks away and buries his face into his palms.

Akaashi freezes.

“Shit, how can I tell you this?” Bokuto mutters, obviously distressed. “I can’t, okay, I just _can’t_. I just—Buddha, if you’re real, give me strength. I swear I will lay off the booze for the rest of my life and worship you every day for as long as I live, just…” He sounds close to tears and frankly speaking it scares Akaashi because Bokuto’s supposed to be happy, throw a familiar arm over his shoulders and pull him close, suggest to throw a party – anything, really. Not this. Never this.

(What gets to him is that Koutarou hasn’t said a word to either of his teammates, hasn’t bragged, hasn’t encouraged them to stay strong or reassured them that he would make their dream come true in their stead. He didn’t even seem too happy the day he found out, completely broken and angry at himself. 

He simply shut himself away from the rest and worked on transfer papers, nose-deep in studies.)

“You said that you needed to tell me something,” Bokuto says after a minute and lifts his head from his palms. His eyes look slightly damper than they should be and his brow is furrowed as though he’s dislocated a shoulder or broken a leg. “Well?”

Akaashi hesitates for a moment. “…Okay.” He signs his death sentence. “But you have to promise me that you will tell me what you cannot. I can handle it, as bad as it might be.”

At first Akaashi thinks that the deal is off because Bokuto is eyeing him warily as if searching for ulterior motives as he contemplates it and finally agrees. “Okay.”

.

.

.

He doesn’t know what to do.

He’s visualized how it would go down, every scenario cheesier than the one before and he’s rehearsed inside his mind what he would say when – _if_ – the day would come. He’d tell Bokuto how grateful and glad he is that he’s gotten the chance to play on the same team as him, how much of a big presence he has become in Akaashi’s plain and boring life, how much he respects him, how much he loves his every ‘mode’ no matter how bad they may be and that he can take it all.

(Akaashi’s a sponge trying to soak up a river that is Bokuto. It’s impossible because there’s so much he doesn’t know, there’s so much Akaashi can do. He’s only ever seen turbulent shallow waters with an occasional glimpse of the life further away from the shore.)

He’s imagined time and time again that when he would finish his monologue Bokuto would reward him with that cheerful smile, reciprocate his feelings and—

(He doesn’t dare imagine even more because he’s too afraid of the crushing disappointment he’ll inevitably feel when none of this happens.)

.

.

.

(It can’t get worse than it already is.)

.

.

.

His breath stutters just the tiniest bit when he sighs and closes his eyes in resignation.

“I… for such a long time I’ve… I’ve been—” All of his thoughts shut down and those scripted scenarios are forgotten completely. This is the real deal and no amount of convincing himself that it isn’t can actually help. “What I wanted to say is…”

If he’s not seeing things, Bokuto looks a bit horrified and that punches the air out of his lungs, shatters his self-confidence. 

He can’t do it.

He can’t do it because that would be incredibly selfish of him. Bokuto’s graduating in a week, he has a dream that’s no longer some pipe-dream, a stupid wish he muttered under shooting stars. It’s actually within his grasp and Akaashi can’t take all of that away, can’t let Bokuto regret this. 

Bokuto Koutarou has a bright future ahead of him and Akaashi Keiji isn’t in it. Doesn’t belong there.

He’s just some scrawny kid that played volleyball with him for a few years, scolded him whenever he became too much to handle, treated him coldly, admired him, fell in love with him—

As a final resort, Akaashi smoothes out his face but he can tell that he’s frowning too much and the corner of his mouth twitches when he closes his eyes, breathing noisily. “Bokuto-san, I’ve always admired you…!”

That’s all he can do.

.

.

.

What Akaashi Keiji doesn’t know, however, is that Bokuto’s been working for his dream to come true even before they met. He’s spent hours upon hours practicing, because you _can’t_ just naturally be good at things - everything requires honest effort and you can only perfect it via sheer willpower and dedication. Bokuto doesn’t care what people say about geniuses. In his eyes they do not exist.

They do have an upper hand though, because they evolve easier. Faster.

Bokuto Koutarou isn’t a genius but he makes up for it with his guts and fearlessness. 

He’s spent days doing research, asking his father to help out. He’s signed up for numerous training sessions, roped in his friends into taking quality vids, sent letter after letter to different coaches – did everything so that he would be noticed, be the star, be the victor, the one to stand out from the bunch of kids who wanted the same things he did.

He did it all thanks to his team.

He practiced with them, made himself better, brought out their potential in the process and despite losing the deciding match – his last high school match – he was still proud of them and he would never forget them.

Washio, Sarukui, Komi, Konoha, Onaga, the coaches, the managers, the fans, the kids who weren’t fortunate enough to play by his side and who always had a second chance.

Akaashi.

.

.

.

(Bokuto wants to live his dream. He really does. He’s worked very hard to make it happen for ten years day in and day out, pretty much breathing volleyball. He has fallen, broken his bones, bruised his skin, overworked himself to the point he needed to be hospitalized, lost matches. It was only fair for his efforts to pay off, right?

But something stops him from grasping it. Something always has.

It’s the distance which had grown to monstrous proportions three weeks ago.)

.

.

.

Bokuto exhales slowly, feeling as though there’s a rope wound tightly around his ribcage, the ends of it pulled in different directions.

(This is so, so messed up but this is how it was supposed to be. Years of tension leading to this moment, months of dancing around each other.

If this isn’t love then he doesn’t think love exists.)

“Took the words right out of my mouth.” Bokuto smiles slightly, a chuckle sneaking past the binds around his ribs and escaping through his mouth. “You’re… very cool, Akaashi.”

The black-haired boy blinks, not sure how to react to this situation at all.

“Hey, let’s just share the burden,” Bokuto continues and slides closer to Akaashi so that there’s barely any distance left between them. He doesn’t move away, thankfully. “Just say what you want to, no distractions, okay?”

“Um, okay.”

The taller one merely smiles. Akaashi’s never been so aware of the size difference in their bodies and auras before. They clash a bit too much, like day and night but Akaashi thinks that if they were together, the most beautiful of sunrises and sunsets could grace the horizon and paint the sky in a mixture of lovely cold and warm colours.

So he follows Bokuto when he says ‘on the count of three’. He’s not afraid anymore, it’s not rejection that scares him anyways.

.

.

.

“I like you. / I love you.”

.

.

.

They don’t know which one of them moved first, but Akaashi couldn’t care less.

“Thank you,” he whispers, voice muffled by Bokuto’s dress shirt. He’s clinging for dear life and he doesn’t know why he hasn’t tried this out sooner while they still had all the time in the world. He blames his own blindness. How dense was he, how did he not notice that the feeling was mutual? He has no right to consider himself smart.

He has no one else to blame but his treacherous logical thinking. He needed to figure out that Bokuto would never say anything to him first, too afraid of hurting him when they needed to go their separate ways. He needed to throw the logic out a long time ago.

(Koutarou is the gentlest person Keiji’s ever met. He’s careful with his movements, his touches are feather-light when he runs his palms over the other’s body as though he’s worshiping Akaashi, as though he’s thinking that he might break from pressure, but he never does. Never had.)

Keiji keeps thanking him repeatedly and Bokuto accepts it all, rubbing soothing circles on his lower back, making Akaashi melt against him. The space between their bodies keeps shrinking and Akaashi is breathing against the side of his neck, still murmuring.

“Should’ve told you a lot sooner,” Bokuto whispers back, burying the tip of his nose in Akaashi’s blazer. He fists its material tightly when he realizes that he physically can’t pull Akaashi in even closer. They’re already suffocating each other. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

“It’s not.” Damn, he feels like shedding tears all over again.

“It’s okay,” Akaashi reassures him again, this time firmer. “We have a week.”

“It’s not enough.”

“…I know. But it needs to be.”

Bokuto pulls away abruptly. He can’t fucking do this. It’s just tearing him apart on the inside and the distance that felt like nothing the moment he got it off his chest and finally confessed, finally told Akaashi that maybe _he loves him even more than his dream_ , was looming between them like there was an actual crack there, getting bigger and bigger. No way to go under it. No way to jump over it. “It’s not okay, Akaashi, damn it just—just listen to me. I can’t let us do this. I’m going away and I’m not speaking about moving to Miyagi or fucking Kyoto, where it would take me a few hours by train to reach you. Because I would, trust me I really would no matter which corner of Japan it was. I’m—” 

This isn’t happening, right?

This is even worse than he had imagined. 

“Where to?” Akaashi asks, voice completely void of any emotion, his eyes dead and Bokuto never wants to see that look again. It reminds him too much of the kid Akaashi used to be, the kid whose misery he had worked so hard to end.

“…America,” he answers quietly.

.

.

.

Ever since the final match with the team whose core consisted of mainly third-years and one first-year, the life Akaashi Keiji knows starts to fall apart, piece by piece. 

As the final piece slips from his palms and shatters near his feet, Akaashi feels nothing but a sense of longing. It doesn’t hurt as it should because he’s way past that stage. He knows how to come to terms with the inevitable.

.

.

.

(They both bite the bullet. It’s like their last night on earth.

It’s not, but this one’s special in a way that won’t ever be forgotten.)

.

.

.

Akaashi lets himself be selfish for once. He’s happy for Bokuto from the very bottom of his heart, but that same heart, tired from beating so damn fast and painful squeezing, hates the poisonous thoughts of invisible walls that go by the name ‘distance’ alternatively called ‘time zones’ being built between them. He wants to be happy but he cries instead, and he hopes Bokuto can’t see.

(He doesn’t but he feels his shirt getting damp and only holds onto Akaashi tighter.)

‘Don’t go, don’t go, don’t go, please,’ Akaashi thinks bitterly. ‘We spent too little time together. We just told each other what we felt today. You can’t just—’

“I’d return,” Bokuto speaks up eventually when the sky is black and the barren room drowns in darkness. “I’d return just for you, if you’d have me,” he continues almost sheepishly and Akaashi discreetly rubs at his puffy eyes.

“Who would want you, Bokuto-san.” He chokes out a mix between a laugh and a sob. “You’re like a child; so hard to deal with. Good riddance, may Americans have fun babysitting you. It’s a lot like a well-earned vacation.”

“I’m not even sure if you’re joking right now!” Bokuto sticks out his lower lip in a pout and cocks his head to the side so he can get a better look at his… what could they be called? Lovers? Friends? 

“What I want to say is that I’d have you.” Akaashi sighs and presses their foreheads together, calming down a little. He still has him, can touch him like this. Now is not the time to shed tears.

“But you always did.” Bokuto goes with it. His lips form that familiar grin that seemingly brightens up the whole room and sets Akaashi’s mind at ease. “Have me that is. Can I have you all to myself as well?” Even if his tone is a tad playful and childish, Akaashi knows that Bokuto’s serious. It’s written all over his face, reflecting in his eyes as one of his hands, the hands Akaashi’s longed to hold for so long, find his.

It’s a nice feeling. Akaashi’s never laced his fingers like this with anyone else and he finally understands what those books meant. He’s never understood it before, called it cheesy and ridiculous, but it really does feel like you’re being completed in one way or another. Like puzzle pieces clicking together.

(Akaashi’s never touched Bokuto’s hands like this, only a few times when he had to bandage the boy’s injured fingers. Bokuto's palms seemed so wide compared to his, hands of a true spiker, warm skin contrasting his own cool one. 

The toss-spike combo was a lot like hand holding in Akaashi’s mind. He would entrust the ball to the ace, set it with precision, let his fingers linger before letting go, feeling his heart jump whenever it connected. Sometimes Bokuto would look at his red stinging palm, flex his fingers a little and focus those star-like eyes on Akaashi as though he was thanking for those awesome tosses that let him break through the opponent’s blocks.)

“Of course, Bokuto-san,” he replies.

He’ll regret this two days from now, three… he’ll regret and regret until Bokuto’s graduation and then…

He doesn’t need to say more because Bokuto doesn’t let him as he kisses him tenderly, almost languidly. It’s a bit awkward because Akaashi’s not really used to it and his nose presses slightly against Bokuto’s cheek but he thinks that this could be called a perfect first kiss. He wouldn’t have it any other way.

Bokuto’s palm presses against his left cheek and adjusts the angle just enough for Akaashi to melt a little from pleasure, spine tingling pleasantly. It feels like someone had poked his stomach with a searing metal bar because it’s in knots; that would feel somewhat pleasant if it weren’t for his doubts and self-degrading. 

Akaashi knows that Bokuto feels it too, maybe even more so, because the gentleness is replaced by urgency and need. The press of those lips is more determined now and Akaashi simply lets Bokuto guide him like he always does, opens his mouth and lets the older boy’s tongue slide against his.

He wants to be swept away, really.

.

.

.

(He lets Bokuto have him: heart, body and soul. He doesn’t know just for how long he’ll truly be remembered and how big of a stamp he’ll leave on Bokuto’s heart, how big of an impact he will cause on his future decisions, but Akaashi knows one thing for sure: he wants to be remembered. He wants Bokuto to remember that this happened, that this was real. That they were _really fucking in love_ and that they got tossed and turned around by fate until they couldn’t be together anymore.

Akaashi hates that word. But nothing else fits close enough.

He leaves marks, a dozen marks of swelling red welts where his blunt yet sharp nails have dug into the skin of Bokuto’s back, starting from his shoulders, following along the line of his spine, and going all the way down to his lower back. Bokuto hisses in pain when Akaashi’s nails trail the same pattern for a second time but firmly keeps it in and lets him do it, muffling his whimpers against Akaashi’s mouth and the marked skin of his pale throat.

Who says that only one of them wants to be possessive? Remembered?)

.

.

.

They don’t go all the way but they don’t really need to. It’s enough.

Akaashi’s an absolute mess in every sense of the word and his mind buzzes almost painfully when he grips Koutarou’s upper arms and says that one wretched sentence.

“Please don’t leave me behind.”

His traitorous mouth lets it slip when he’s about to come undone, toes curling in the sheets of the messed up bed – now it finally feels like they’re back in Koutarou’s room - and the boy above him holds up his weight on his forearms that are placed on the sides by Akaashi’s head, trapping him so that he can’t look away and focus on anything else. Bokuto dips his head down to kiss him once he hears it, silver hair brushing against Akaashi’s forehead pleasantly.

“Love you,” he mutters and rolls his hips slightly.

And Akaashi should probably respond to that, but his mind isn’t synchronizing with his mouth. He feels strangely detached from everything around him and senses sweat pooling in the dip of his neck. 

“Don’t forget me.”

“Love ya so much it hurts…” Another kiss, this time slower, overflowing with affection.

“Promise me… th-that you’ll come ba—nhh!”

Akaashi can’t finish his sentence. Everything gets too much to handle and he sees nothing but silver and gold - the two colours he has always associated with the older boy, the main colours that he had used when he slowly but surely painted on Akaashi’s plain canvas, filling it with joy for the little and simple things in life. 

Akaashi can feel the twitch between Bokuto’s eyebrows against the damp skin of his forehead, silver strands sticking to it. His lover couldn’t care less, eyes squeezed shut, focusing on the feeling, fingers curled so tightly in the black sheets they’re almost tearing from the pressure. Akaashi sighs against Bokuto’s tightly sealed lips, spent and high on feelings of love and physical contact. 

Nothing beats the feeling of tangling yourself with your lover, wrapped around each other like vines that had been planted next to each other.

They’re simply enjoying their proximity when Bokuto speaks up, lips brushing against Keiji’s collarbone with every word. “I told you that I’ll come back. You have me, Akaashi. So no takebacks,” he demands childishly and Akaashi lets a fond smile appear on his lips, stops his petting motions to untangle his fingers from the damp mess of Bokuto’s silver mane in order to flick his forehead.

“What was that for!?”

“For saying idiotic stuff.”

“It’s not idiotic! I don’t want to share you with anyone else.” Bokuto huffs and holds himself up on unsteady arms to look Akaashi in the eye. “I mean it. Distance wouldn’t be a problem, I’d fly back the same day, teleport if I had to, just to keep others away.”

“Bokuto-san, you’re an idiot,” Akaashi deadpans and flicks his forehead again. “There’s no way I’d be interested in anyone else. To begin with: they wouldn’t be interested in me as well.”

“Why not? Akaashi, you’re so damn hot that I’m too scared to leave you alone.” 

Akaashi blinks, confused. Really, what was this man blabbering about? “I’m pretty sure that your definition of ‘attracti—”

Bokuto cuts him off and leans in until he’s hovering over his black-haired lover’s face “Nope! You’re gorgeous, Akaashi! Do you have any idea how hard it is to resist you? Especially during the leg stretches when you— _mff_?”

Akaashi swiftly places his palms over that loud mouth, the tips of his ears burning as though someone had spilled melted lead on them. “Stop. You’re embarrassing, Bokuto-san.”

His lover peels away his palms so that he can at least _breathe_ – maybe Akaashi’s pressed a bit too much – and pouts in a way only he can. “I just wanted to compliment your flexibility, don’t be such a sourpuss about it.” His face changes completely and Akaashi stares up at those strangely unfamiliar amber eyes. “And it’s Koutarou.”

“Huh?”

“Call me by my name, ‘kay?”

Akaashi’s face burns a brilliant shade of red when he remembers that he’s been called by his first name when they were grinding against each other, too blinded by the pleasure to focus on anything else as they let their bodies do the talking. 

He remembers the soft ‘Keiji’ breathed out against his ear and it embarrasses him even more.

(It takes him a while to adjust to ‘Koutarou’ and forget ‘Bokuto-san’ completely. The idea of senpai-kouhai relationship still burns inside his memories whenever he thinks back to high school and volleyball club, so he tends to mess up more often than not. Either way, Akaashi feels that it would be very disrespectful of him to remember the older man as his lover Koutarou instead of Fukurodani’s ace and captain Bokuto-san, respectively.

After all, the senpai captain only turned into a lover after their high school volleyball career was officially over.)

Nevertheless he calls him Koutarou anyway.

.

.

.

They spent their week together, hushed words of affection exchanged between them as Bokuto revised the entire course for his exams and Akaashi would curl up beside him, do his own homework or simply stare at his lover, amazed by his concentration. It’s a bit unusual to see Bokuto this serious outside the volleyball court but he says that he has to do well so there’s no time to ‘dick around’.

(Their teammates notice that something has changed between them. Unbeknownst to the owl pair, the rest of the team had made bets on how long it would take for them to get together.

Konoha gets incredibly rich and wastes it all on booze and food during the day of their graduation. )

.

.

.

Akaashi still hates clocks with a passion. Bokuto gets rid of his two days before graduation. They don’t study that night, only lay next to each other and listen to each other’s breathing as rain mercilessly beats against the windows and wind howls outside, matching the storm wrecking havoc inside their hearts. Bokuto’s parents don’t bother them – Akaashi’s presence has become a daily occurrence.

Bokuto kisses him and it still feels like their first. Akaashi can only lace their fingers together and press himself closer.

There was no way to escape this feeling of dread to begin with and they both knew it, knew that it would hurt even worse if they decided to take the risk.

“Just remember that I love you, Keiji,” Bokuto said when they went down and he was escorting Akaashi outside. The skies had cleared, yet it seemed that this wouldn’t be the last of rain that day. Akaashi quickly looked around to see if no one was listening or looking their way and pressed a rushed kiss to the corner of the taller one’s mouth.

“I know.”

.

.

.

(That was the last time they saw each other until the graduation ceremony.)

.

.

.

Akaashi will never forget how brightly the sun had shined on the day of Bokuto’s and other third-years graduation. It seemed as though the universe was mocking him in every way imaginable. It was just like the day he had found a place for himself in this world. 

He patiently sits out the entire ceremony until they are dismissed and he catches the sight of Bokuto’s usual hairstyle from the corner of his eye. Volleyball club stands taller than the rest of the students out there so it isn’t that hard to spot them. 

Akaashi stands frozen to his spot and decides against going up to them when he hears Bokuto’s loud voice that’s meant to cheer his ex-teammates up but instead it breaks something within all of them and Akaashi watches as one after another they all break down into tears. Komi sobs like an ambulance, attracting disturbed stares to their group. 

Bokuto forces a feeble smile, calls them all pansies but before he can even finish his sentence, big fat tears roll down his cheeks too.

Akaashi runs out of the hall, his own eyes stinging uncomfortably.

.

.

.

Their goodbyes are like those from sappy romance novels. The spring’s sun blinds Akaashi as he stands under one of the many sakura trees planted by the stadium. Not many people usually go here, but he sees couples here and there, saying goodbyes, shedding tears of either sadness or joy. He waits for Bokuto to get here, just like they had promised the night before.

Akaashi feels a little out of place with a bouquet of roses interfering with his field of vision and he ignores the curious glances of other students. Someone he doesn’t know wishes him good luck. He barely restrains himself from rolling his eyes.

“Wow, _whoever_ you’re dating, she’s super lucky.” A cheerful voice reaches him from behind and Akaashi turns around to tell another dumb kid that these weren’t for his imaginary girlfriend or whatever but instead he comes face to face with Bokuto. He’s grinning, and his eyes shine brightly.

Akaashi nods his head in acknowledgment.

“Talkative today,” Bokuto teases and steps in closer. Some girls on their left dive into thick bushes for cover but Akaashi can still feel their curious gazes. “What a pretty bouquet, Akaashi! You shouldn’t have. Though I must say that roses aren’t exactly my style—”

Akaashi smacks the flowers against his face, earning a satisfying ‘geh!?’ sound. “And now they are.”

“Anything from you is my style, _Kei-chan_.”

The bushes giggle. Akaashi glares in their general direction and they calm completely. “I think we should talk elsewhere, Bokuto-san.”

“It’s Kou—“

“ _Elsewhere_ ,” Akaashi repeats and drags him away.

.

.

.

They end up back in the gym that is empty of students. The chairs interfere with Akaashi’s plans.

He had hoped to set for Koutarou one last time.

It seems that the universe really does hate him. Hate _them_.

“So this is it, huh?” Bokuto sighs and looks around the gym, fingertips skidding over the chairs. “My last time here and I couldn’t even see the place where I spent most of my days in its usual state. Unfair, don’t ya say?”

“It truly is… disappointing,” Akaashi agrees.

Bokuto looks at him and takes a few steps closer, placing the bouquet on a chair nearby. “Anything you have to tell me, Keiji, shouldn’t wait. This might be the last time we get the chance to speak like this.”

_Don’t remind me._

But there’s nothing to remind.

Their time has finally run out.

.

.

.

 

On the day of the third-years graduation, the life Akaashi Keiji had known for the last two years shattered, beyond repair.

.

.

.

“There’s not much I can say. I’m glad that I’ve met you, Koutarou. I’m glad for everything you’ve done for me. I could thank you for a thousand of years and I’d still feel like it’s not enough. You showed me your world, let me fight by your side and I think that we have achieved plenty together. We had our ups and downs and you pissed me off _endlessly_ with your toddler-like behavior but none of that ever mattered. It’s been an honor to be your setter and teammate.”

“Thank you for loving me.”

“I’ll wait for you, for as long as it takes. Be it a year or ten, I’ll wait. So won’t you come back to me next spring during my graduation?”

.

.

.

 

“I will.”

.

.

.

(It breaks.

But all that breaks must come together.)

Koutarou’s amber eyes glisten with tears for the second time that day as he smiles, lights up this empty gymnasium like only he can and no one will ever be able to. Their generation was one of a kind.

“I’m not good with emotional speeches, so how about ya just stop talking and—” he sniffles and extends his arms, an indication for Akaashi to step closer.

(He runs that short distance instead.)

“I’ll miss you so fucking much.” Bokuto sobs and Akaashi wraps his arms around him even tighter. “You and the boys, and Fukurodani. I’ll miss you.”

“I’ll miss you too.”

.

.

.

There’s a loud clang as a loud voice interrupts them. “Hey, you sound like you’re killing us off here!” Konoha says and moodily kicks a chair. The rest of the team trails behind him. Sarukui looks very touched by Bokuto’s and Akaashi’s display of affection.

“That’s right! Stop with the tears! We have to celebrate the day we finally escape school, guys! No more exams!”

“Fuck exams!”

“Fuck school!” 

Bokuto straightens up at the sight of his friends grinning as they all not so kindly put Fukurodani into dogs days. “You guys…”

They all calm down at the sound of their ex-captain’s voice. Komi smiles knowingly. “C’mon, Bokuto-san. Let’s get out of here and go celebrate! Burn this day into your mind as one of the best in your life.”

The silver-haired boy seems reluctant as he looks around the gymnasium again and Akaashi touches his forearm gently, bringing him back down from his reminiscence.

“Bokuto-san, let’s go,” he encourages him and takes his hand, noticing that it’s slightly damp and a little more twitchy than usual. “They’re right; you need to celebrate while you can. Your team’s waiting for you.”

Bokuto’s breath hitches and his eyes sparkle when he takes in a deep breath and pounces on Akaashi, startling him. “Damn I love you so much, might as well put you into a suitcase and take you with me!”

His teammates cheer loudly, Washio and Konoha throwing up their diplomas into the air. Sarukui says that this is the most epic love-story he’s ever witnessed. No one dares to say otherwise, because it is.

.

.

.

They file out of the gym, the third-years casting longing looks its way and they take the next bus to the nearest restaurant that sells cheap but good food. Konoha’s forced to pay for everyone – he’s not too happy about it but they complain that he’s the reason why everyone’s so broke. Akaashi and Bokuto remain confused though Bokuto doesn’t give up that easily and demands for answers because he hates being left out of the loop - and the third-years are happily getting smashed. 

Bokuto refuses to let Akaashi drink and orders him mineral water instead. He gets splashed with it _by accident_.

He tells his teammates about the trip to America – they’re all shocked by this, but they are more glad than upset – and Konoha starts making offensive jokes. Within the span of ten minutes they’re calling Bokuto ‘Mr. United States’ and Washio plays USA’s hymn on his phone whenever Bokuto opens his mouth to say something. It’s damn hilarious at first – especially because of Washio’s facial expression whenever he does it - but two hours later it just gets annoying.

Bokuto’s most likely thinking the same when he makes up an excuse that he needs to go outside to get some fresh air and drags Akaashi after him. The drunken third-years salute him and go back to making offensive jokes.

“And you said that I was the annoying one.” Bokuto sulks once they are outside. The restaurant is built near a park so the traffic sounds don’t reach that well here. Besides, not many people come here during this time of the day. Bokuto comes to an abrupt halt when they go deeper into the park. “I almost forgot to give you something,” he clarifies when he catches his lover’s questioning stare. He digs through the pockets of his blazer and pants until his face lights up when he snatches onto something he’s been searching for. “Ah, there it is.”

The object must be really small because it fits in his clenched palm and Akaashi raises one eyebrow at that. This better not be another one of Bokuto’s practical jokes.

“Close your eyes,” he asks and Akaashi obeys, his curiosity getting the best of him.

He feels Bokuto take his left hand and something is placed on his palm but it’s so light he might as well mistake it for a trick his tired mind is playing on him.

“What—” he questions warily and opens his eyes only to see a golden button that obviously belongs to Bokuto's blazer resting in the dip of his palm. He rolls it between his fingers, feeling the smooth surface.

“Koutarou, I—”

“I would’ve given it to you today either way, so—I guess we saved some trouble, mh?” He laughs a bit nervously and Akaashi’s surprised to see his face burning bright red. Especially his ears. “Think of this as a promise. Next year I expect to get one in return!” he blurts out, now as red as a tomato.

“If you think of me,” Akaashi says, clutching onto the little button, feeling it dig into his skin. “Then I promise to think of you too. If you say that you will come back, then I will wait for you to come back home.”

“I’ll think of you every minute, Keiji.” Koutarou hugs him. The thought that he won’t get to feel this again for the next year – only if he is lucky – chills him to the bone. “I’ll call you all the time, okay? Even if it’s midnight at my place, I’ll find a way. All I ask of you is to keep the team in check, alright?”

‘What team?’ Akaashi would’ve said. ‘My team is here and they’re leaving me behind. There’s no one to call a team right now’.

“This isn’t the end, Akaashi,” Koutarou hums and looks him in the eye. Maybe he could get used to that serious look. “I’ll work hard to become a pro and you need to graduate at the top of your class and get into the swankiest university imaginable. The rest will work out somehow, I know it.” 

Akaashi simply kisses him in response, pouring out every emotion he’s feeling into it and Bokuto takes it all in, accepts him.

(It always feels like their first.

It’s never enough.)

.

.

.

 

Bokuto needs to leave soon after, a promise to meet Kuroo Tetsurou that cannot be broken. 

“Can’t leave a rival hanging!” he calls out over his shoulder as he runs towards the nearest bus stop.

Akaashi decides to walk the rest of the way back home. It isn’t too far away but at the same time it takes him a long while.

He lets the crowd carry him along as he looks up at the cloudy sky painted in the most amazing of oranges, reds and purples, yellows and blues. It’s such a vibrant colour that it makes him feel somewhat nostalgic. Has the world always been so colourful? So bright?

_This isn’t the end._

It is only _the beginning_ of something else and Akaashi has decided to go along with it, for the better or worse.


End file.
